


Almost Tangible

by northernist



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Comic Book Science, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, High School, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Minor Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, why do i do this to these sweet characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernist/pseuds/northernist
Summary: In the aftermath of a tragic accident that has claimed May's life, Peter sustains brain injuries. A little over four weeks pass and he's brought back to his normal self. The only problem is, he can't remember almost anything. Or anyone. When a certain billionaire hears about the incident, he doesn't hesitate to take matters into his own hands.Peter slowly learns to overcome adversities, and to appreciate the people most important in his life that have helped him through to the end. Even if he’s lost, there will always be something tangible about finding home again.





	1. Tragedy Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> I already have this story in the process, and I'll try and make updates as soon as possible. This story is fun to write, and hope you guys like chapter 1.

August 10th

-

Peter raced across the dining room, backpack rustling behind as he stumbled to the kitchen entry. He leaned his weight against the wall, adjusting his shirt as he slipped on a pair of white sneakers.

 

May, preoccupied with making her nephew’s sack lunch, didn’t notice him steal an English muffin from the countertop. He munched on it as he continued to prepare for school, muffling with the food in his mouth.

 

“Hey, May, you haven’t forgot what today is, right?”

 

She turned around, fingers still fiddling with the lunch until she took a hand and yanked the muffin from his mouth. “Peter, don’t talk with your mouth full,” she reprimanded lightly. He only smiled in response.

 

She shook her head with a laugh. “Of course I haven’t. How could I? How old will you be this year… sixteen?”

 

“Seventeen,” Peter faked a scoff, only for May to ruffle his unruly hair.

 

“Seventeen, huh? Oh my gosh, you’re getting so old. Can’t believe my baby is growing up so fast. I just won’t allow it.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes playfully, snatching the muffin back and finishing it in two hole bites. He pivoted around, exiting the kitchen and walking toward the front door with May following behind.

 

“By the way,” May began. Peter cocked his head, earbuds already in his grasp. She tossed him the sack lunch, and his reflexes impelled him to swiftly maneuver around, catching the bag with poise. She gave a small smile. “We have dinner reservations at six thirty. It’s at your favorite Italian place, Barosa. Be back by five fifteen so we can leave early, please.”

 

Peter nodded, stuffing the lunch into his backpack and shuffling toward May. He wrapped his arms around her in a hug, leaning into the embrace and smelling her honey-scented shampoo. She caressed his back as if he was ten again, and the gesture soothed him as they stood there for what seemed like minutes. May planted a ginger kiss to his hair, murmuring, “happy birthday, Peter. I love you.”

 

He let go, facing her one last time before departing. “Love you too, May.”

 

And with that, he took off out of their apartment and headed to Midtown High.

 

-

 

Swinging through the tall buildings of New York would never get old. The scenery that came with the adrenaline rush, and the wind biting at his mask as he flew throughout the city felt like true freedom. Especially at dusk, when the sky transitioned into a vibrant expanse of lavenders and oranges.

 

He shot out another string of web, gliding by until he landed quietly atop of an apartment’s rooftop. His apartment, to be exact.

 

Peter scurried to the cement edge and sat down, dangling his feet from the top.

 

“Karen, what time is it?”

 

“It’s currently five twelve. You are three minutes early for your designated time of arrival.”

 

Peter gave himself a mental high five. He was doing so well today, and it seemed like fate was on his side. He’d aced his first physics test and had made more progress with MJ and his relationship. Ned had also been kind enough to gift him a brand new Star Wars LEGO set with over five thousand pieces, including a photo album full of their shared memories. Now he was about to spend time with May at his favorite restaurant in Queens. Peter couldn’t contain his excitement as he thrashed his legs out in a childlike manner.

 

Moments before crawling down to his bedroom window, the bright hue of a blue hologram appeared before him. The contact read ‘TONY STARK’ in bolded capital letters. Peter’s heart flew to his throat as he opened up the message.

 

It read as the following:

 

_Happy birthday, kid. Seventeen is a year closer to clubbing. And voting. That too. Enjoy the rest of your day, and don't do anything stupid. Remember that gray area I told you about - that's where you operate._

_Tony_

 

Something warm flooded Peter’s stomach as his eyes skimmed over the text again and again until he closed out of the tab. So Mr. Stark did remember about his birthday. So much so that he even took the time to send him a heartfelt text.

 

Peter grinned underneath the mask, a bright, toothy grin, before crawling down to his window.

 

He emerged through the other side, fingers sliding delicately on his ceiling before closing the door and dropping down to the floor. He discarded his mask in a bin, his suit tossed onto the top bunk as he strolled over to his closet to get ready for dinner.

 

It took him only a few minutes to clean up and wash his face and throw on his best clothes, as well as brush through his usually thick and unkempt curly tresses. May checked up on him once, making sure he’d made it back safe and sound.

 

May had still been new to the whole secret identity thing, and months ago, his aunt had been both wary and tense about it. She’d made it clear over a hundred times that what he was doing was dangerous and sometimes idiotic, blaming Tony Stark for ingraining superhero morals into his mind at a young age. Though she only stressed for Peter’s sake, worrying about his safety. Peter was all she had left; the only tangible thing remaining of their family. Peter felt the same way. Even though she disliked his second life as Spider-Man, she had supported him as much as she could. Peter thanked her deeply for that.

 

Finally finished with touching up his appearance, he took a lint roller and cleaned his attire.

 

He took two steps back until he saw himself in his bedroom mirror, finger gunning to his reflection with a smirk. He posed a few times, even going so far as to impersonate Thor’s voice until he heard a knock on his door.

 

Peter’s arms immediately shot down to his side. His shoulders tensed with embarrassment as May cracked open the door.

 

“Everything alright, champ?”

 

“Peachy,” he said. May hummed, turning around, heels clanking against the wooden floorboards.

 

“We’re leaving now, so be out by the car in five.”

 

“Will do!” Peter called back, snatching his phone from his desk and darting out of his room.

 

He made it to the parking lot in less than two minutes, and him and May were on the road in four.

 

Traffic had been tumultuous that night. Honking cars, upset drivers, and a few middle fingers as they made it onto the busiest highway. Peter turned up the radio music until it was practically blaring one of his favorite songs, his head shaking along to the melody. May joined in a few times, singing along with Peter as they eased their way through the line of cars.

 

Soon the sky above changed into a bleary overcast, darkness encompassing the once colorful clouds. The sun could no longer be seen ducking below the horizon.

 

The traffic dragged out, being much longer than anticipated. The GPS had surmised forty more minutes until reaching their destination. There was a slight problem, however, because the reservation would expire in twenty minutes. They’d been on the road for forty five minutes already, and the restaurant didn’t alter original times.

 

May gripped the steering wheel with a frustrated sigh, eyes narrowing through glasses to look at her GPS. Meanwhile, Peter stared out the window of the passenger seat, looking at the truck beside them.

 

With a final huff of irritation, she redirected their route on the device. Peter flit a side look to his aunt, seeing her eyebrows knit together and her lips turned down.

 

“Everything alright?” He asked.

 

She turned, nodding. “Yeah, we’re just taking a little detour, that’s all. Don’t want to be late for your birthday dinner. This way we’ll make it in time, so don’t worry,” she reassured.

 

May made a right exit off the highway and onto a quieter, more vacant street. Peter could finally stare out his side of the window without looking at cars passing by. His eyes roamed over the array of old, weathered buildings, and lone cats that scurried across the front lawns.

 

Not long after they had taken a different road, rain started to pelt down. The light drops then transitioned into downpour minutes later, and the road in front became brumous with haze as they continued their drive.

 

For some strange reason, Peter’s senses began to fray. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and a gut churning feeling had him on edge for quite some time. Apparently, the unease was evident on his face as May cast him a glance.

 

“Peter, are you alright? You look sick,” she asked in a concerned tone.

 

Peter wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead, rubbing the condensation off on his jeans. “It’s nothing, just a little hot and humid, that’s all.”

 

She made sure to turn up the air conditioning in the car, and for the next five minutes, Peter still felt sick to his stomach. They soon came to the beginning of a bridge, and Peter had to clutch his seat in an attempt to assuage his frazzled nerves.

 

Then, he saw it.

 

Almost ten feet in front of them was a deer, eyes wide as it froze in the middle of the street.

 

May startled, and in an instant her hands acted quicker than her mind. She swerved the wheel, sending the car skidding across the wet road that created a sizzling din as the vehicle continued to slide over and crash straight through the railing of the bridge and off the side.

 

The car tumbled loudly into the muddied, slushed ground of the hill, flipping two times before slamming into a tree. There was a snap, followed by a few cracks that sounded eerily like bones, and before Peter knew it, his head collided with the front of the window.

 

Everything went black.

 

-

August 22nd

-

 

Tony hadn’t heard from Peter in over a week.

 

Usually, the kid would be chattering his ear off about how his first week of school went. Or how he’s gradually falling head over heels for this one girl named… MJ, was it? He missed hearing his excited voice, and felt that the lack of jubilance seemed to deprive him of a certain light in his life.

 

He didn’t want to bother the kid, though. Tony respected Peter’s privacy, and only if the kid found himself in helpless danger or critical condition, then he would be by his side in an instant.

 

Initially, Tony thought Peter had been busy patrolling. He had already deduced that hadn’t been the case. From checking the suit’s cams and usage, it seemed that Peter wasn’t wearing his suit at all. That, in fact, had Tony bewildered; the kid couldn’t go a few days without donning the Spider-Man regalia.

 

He even attempted calling him a few times, and was left on voicemail every single call. Maybe the kid was mad at him? He didn’t know; how could he?

 

The billionaire made it slide for a few more days. Maybe Peter was sick and wasn’t feeling up to fighting crime? Or perhaps he was grounded by his aunt and forced to three hours of homework every night. Whatever the reason might have been, Tony still felt off about it.

 

Later on Saturday night, he assessed the situation further.

 

He checked up on Peter’s school; asked the principle of Midtown High if Peter was doing alright. If his grades were stable and his social life was balanced. The response he received was nothing short of concerning. They had told him Peter wasn’t attending his classes, and that he hadn’t called in sick, either.

 

That was when Tony took matters into his own hands. He suited up and flew straight to the kid’s apartment complex.

 

It took him about thirty minutes to arrive, his nanotech armor dissolving back into his clothes as he stood outside the front door.

 

He stood there, irresolute about knocking.

 

What if the kid _was_ mad at him? How would he react then? Had he done something wrong? The last thing he’d said to the kid was that message he sent him on his birthday. How in the world could that set him off?

 

Tony swallowed his pride and gave a raucous knock. Nobody responded. Another knock, and still the same outcome. Was May away? Today was Saturday, so she was either working, Peter was out with a friend, or any other scenario was going on that Tony didn’t know about.

 

But then he remembered that Peter hadn’t been going to school, and Tony’s concerns flooded once more.

 

He wanted to knock again, but before he could an elderly lady came up from behind. She gawked at him for a second before her wrinkled face scrunched up in a melancholic expression.

 

“A nice boy and his aunt lived there a week and a half ago. Poor family,” she started.

 

Tony let his arm slip down, his left hand quivering as his brown eyes wavered slightly.

 

“They haven’t been back?” He asked, voice sounding parched. The lady shook her head. “Haven’t been back since the accident. Put those two in the hospital. The incident was all over the news,” she said. Tony felt his throat constrict tightly as she continued.

 

“Authorities found them in a ditch outside of Marvin boulevard. Crashed off the side of a bridge for some unknown reason. For all I know, they’d be lucky enough to make it out paralyzed and alive with -“

 

The old lady never finished her sentence, because Tony had already blasted off, his sole focus on finding the nearest hospital possible.

 

-

 

He found Queens’ most popular hospital, throwing open the glass doors with unrestrained force. He didn’t even care about the variety of looks directed at him, or the calling of his name. To hell with the other people, he needed to find Peter  _now._

 

  
Tony eyed the room until his gaze landed on a wide eyed front desk lady. He didn’t waste time to hustle over to her.

 

She stood there, mouth ajar, until Tony spoke up. “Peter Parker’s room number, please,” he said sternly. She immediately dropped her stare as fingers began to type on the keyboard, a click resounding as she skimmed her eyes over the files on her computer.

 

“Room 203, level two. May I ask if you are a relative?”

 

Tony was already rushing toward the elevator in a hurry, calling back behind. “I’m a close friend.” The elevator dinged, and his fingers, although shakily, pressed the number two a multitude of times. Tony brought his left hand to his chest, caressing it as he inhaled deeply. He focused on his breathing for a few seconds before the elevator doors parted to the second floor, and he was running again.

 

He passed by patient’s rooms with scrupulous eyes, making sure he would find the right number.

 

199, 200, 201, 202… 203!

 

He skidded to a stop, his sneakers squeaking loudly. Tony stood outside the door, gulping a large amount of air before touching the cool metal of the doorknob. He didn’t know what to expect when walking in, but he hoped that he could handle it.

 

With another deep breath, he pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was the bed. Sheets neatly tucked around a familiar figure, and a heart monitor beeping steadily, drowning out Tony’s own frantic heartbeat. The room was empty, save for the kid in the bed. Tony took wary steps forward, impelling himself to get closer. He needed to see Peter’s condition.

 

Once he rounded the bed, he peered over to see his face.

 

Peter laid motionless, his body positioned in a straight form, with many tubes and casts attached to him. His IV bag dripped every once in awhile, and if Tony listened closely, he could hear the slight rasp of Peter’s breath.

 

Behind him, the door opened with a soft creak, closing soon after. Tony didn’t look back, his focus only on the kid in front of him. His hand moved to the side of the bed, close to where Peter’s head was, as he continued to stare down at the kid with disbelief.

 

A male’s voice penetrated through the silence.

 

“Mr. Stark, I heard you were coming to visit.” Tony looked behind him, then looked back without saying a word. A young physician, with dark black hair and sharp blue eyes. The Doctor sighed, coming beside him with a clipboard in hand.

 

“My name is Doctor Heinsman. I’m the neurologist here that checks up on Peter time to time.” Tony’s insides lurched.

 

“Neurologist, was it?” Tony said in a low voice. Doctor Heinsman hummed, uncapping a pen and jotting a few things down. “Yes, I tended to some of Peter’s injuries that he’d sustained from the accident. Though head injuries weren’t the only thing to come along with the boy.”

 

Tony tightened his balled fists, teeth clamped shut. “What other injuries does he have, Doctor?”

 

“Let me see,” he flipped a few pages on the clipboard. “A minor oblique fracture. A compound fracture on his right leg - we already went through with the surgery - and retrograde amnesia.”

 

Tony felt the room go dark, and his conspicuous shaking ceased. Amnesia? He didn’t know how to react; everything felt numb - like a pins and needles sensation.

 

Doctor Heinsman sighed. “His affected areas were in bad condition, and I would predict that Peter here has the chance of consolidating his memory, possibly even restoring past events. He’ll remember bits of things, but other than that, I would say a few years until he’s back to his usual self.”

 

A few years. A plethora of emotions surged through his mind. Grief, denial, anger. It all came so fast. It was like a blinding, white light had been shone in Tony’s eyes. Peter had amnesia.

 

Peter had amnesia. The words fluttered through his head like an innocuous thrum.

  
The thought of his aunt sent chills down his spine. If Peter, even with his enhanced healing and reflexes was this wounded, how would his aunt be?

 

“Excuse me, Doctor,” his voice was barely below a whisper. Heinsman swiveled around, averting his small blue eyes to meet Tony’s. “Where is… May Parker?”

 

The Doctor’s facade flitted with a hint of sorrow. “She suffered a snapped neck. We tried to resuscitate her, and she was on life support for only a few days before going into cardiac arrest. She passed already, seven days ago.”

 

The numbness persisted, and Tony had to sit down. He took a stool and plopped onto it, shoulders sagged with hands folded on his thighs as he tried to process everything. Peter didn’t have anyone else left. Peter was alone. The kid would be forced to live in an orphanage, or worse: he would end up homeless. Tony didn’t even debate over what his mind thought next; his heart acted faster than his head.

 

“When is his discharge?”

 

“Tomorrow, actually. He should be up in a few hours -”

 

“I’ll take him.”

 

Doctor Heinsman paused with his work, capping the pen as he took on a serious expression. “Take him, Mr. Stark? As in bring him where?”

 

Tony didn’t hesitate to respond. “Home. He’s coming home with me.”

 

Doctor Heinsman looked taken aback, his mouth hung open and face crinkled with confusion. “Mr. Stark, you aren’t currently listed as a legal guardian for Peter. We will have to take professional measures and place him in an orphanage -”

 

"- To _hell_ with an orphanage! Hand me the appropriate files right now and I’ll sign them faster than you can blink.”

 

That made the Doctor grow quiet. Tony didn’t regret anything said, and it was all true. He would sign papers to acquire legal custody of Peter. It was a spur in the moment decision, but he knew that this kid needed him, and that he needed the kid, too. Tony couldn’t bear the fact that Spider-Man, Queens’ most precious vigilante, would disappear. He couldn’t bear the fact that Peter Parker, his goddamned prodigy, would be absent from his life. He couldn’t do that to him. He would never leave him.

 

Soon after his outburst, the Doctor had excused himself out of the room, leaving the two alone. Tony was situated next to Peter as Heinsman retrieved the papers for discharge. In a few days, he would be issued to court for Peter’s custody. It would probably make national headlines. This would change almost everything.

 

He didn’t care about that right now, though. All he wanted was for Peter to open his eyes and see him. He wanted to talk to Peter, tell him he was going to be alright. He wanted to comfort him the best that he could.

 

Right now, he wasn’t a billionaire. He wasn’t a philanthropist, playboy, or Iron Man. He was a regular man, scared of what would come next. He was terrified of what would become of Peter. Without thinking, his hand traveled slowly to Peter’s head, and ever so gently he carded rough, calloused fingers through his hair.

 

He could feel a wetness glide down his cheek as he continued to stroke his hair.

 

“You’re coming home, Pete.”


	2. Who Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first time using this site, and last I uploaded (30 minutes ago?), there were some technical difficulties. Here's another chapter to compensate for my stupidity of not checking beforehand. I now know where I made my mistake at :/ Anyway, enjoy this very early chapter.

 

August 23rd

 

-

 

Rain pattered down that Sunday night. Light drizzles had been persistent throughout the day, and it’d created a pleasant background noise. The hospital room was situated toward the end of the second floor, secluded from the other rooms which added to the quietness.

 

Though it wasn’t all that peaceful. To Tony, it was more like being trapped in a box; a solitary confinement that would drive anyone to the brink of insanity. 

 

The ongoing beeping of the heart monitor kept Tony up throughout the night, and all that could mollify him was Peter’s soft breathing. He had waited patiently for the kid to wake up; the Doctor had informed him many times that in another day, Peter would be able to open his eyes.

 

It had been almost 22 hours, and still no sign of him waking. 

 

But Tony didn’t give up on him. He’d called Pepper to cancel his meeting with a prestigious biotech company that day, and told her that he would be bringing Peter back to the compound. Pepper agreed to keep low about the situation, and told him that he had her full support. Tony had been thankful for that.

 

Doctor Heinsman had returned with all the papers that evening, too. Tony signed each and every one of them, now officially gaining temporary custody of Peter until the court date, which was designated for September 15th. He’d also asked Heinsman for the fifth time when Peter would wake up, but still ended up with the same response:

 

“Give it a while, he’ll come around.”

 

So Tony continued to wait. Sitting on that same stool, fingers wrapped tightly around the side of Peter’s bed as he took a free hand and rubbed at his tired eyes; they were bloodshot from the sleep deprivation, adorned with heavy bags underneath. 

 

It was nearing nine o’clock when his eyes began to droop, and he had to reluctantly give himself at least five minutes of rest time.

 

Before closing them, there was a sudden stir beside him. A rustling of the sheets, and a faster pace of beeping on the monitor. 

 

Tony’s head swiveled around so fast that he got whiplash from the movement. That didn’t matter though, his eyes averted to the now moving Peter.

 

For the first time in almost two weeks, Peter’s eyelids opened, revealing glossed over brown irises.

 

Tony pursed his lips, a comforting hand placed tentatively on Peter’s head. The teen, though groggy, inclined his head back. Brown met brown. Tony couldn’t help but choke out a laugh. 

 

“Hey there, kid.”

 

All Peter could do was blink. He looked disoriented. His eyes were frantically searching the man before him, as if wanting a certain affirmation; wanted someone to tell him it was going to be fine. He tried to articulate words, but his throat rasped loudly and sent him into a coughing fit. Tony hushed him with a soothing voice, fingers gliding through messy brown tresses.

 

“I’m here, kid. I’m here, don’t worry,” he whispered. That seemed to have relaxed him. After Peter’s coughing had diminished, he tried again.

 

“Wh…where am I?” Was all he managed out. Hell, his voice sounded scratchy and dry. Poor kid.

 

Tony gave him a small smile. “You’re in the hospital. But you’re going home soon, so don’t worry.”

 

Tony knew what was coming. He knew the impending questions that were going to be asked. It was inevitable to avoid now, and he didn’t think he was ready to face them. Reality was really a slap to the face in this situation.

 

Peter attempted to sit up, but Tony admonished him quickly. “Don’t do that, kid. It’s not good to move so fast in your state.” 

 

“Is my name kid?” The question sounded genuine. Tony didn’t know whether to laugh at how ridiculous it sounded or feel bad. He chose the latter.

 

“No, your name is Peter Parker.” The kid nodded, but in a aloof manner. He acted detached for a few minutes, eyes darting around the room with piqued interest and a hint of fright. 

 

It seemed that Peter had finally gained his normal voice back, and was ready to bombard Tony with multiple questions. “Are you my dad?”

 

Tony nearly choked on air. Then, his heart dropped.

 

Had he forgotten who his family was? 

 

He had forgotten who  _ he  _ was as well. 

 

His face contorted into an indecipherable expression. “N...no, Peter. I’m your guardian.” A quick save, but not as smooth as he hoped it would be. Peter gave him a quizzical look. “You’re family?” 

 

“You could say that,” he replied with a feigned smile. Something glistened in Peter’s eyes, and the kid suddenly propelled from the bed despite the tubes and IV attached, his arms folding around Tony’s middle in a tight embrace. A sob escaped the teen’s lips, and Tony could feel a wetness soak onto his shirt as the kid began to cry.

 

The kid was  _ hugging  _ him. And  _ crying. _

 

Tony could only sit there stunned. He’d froze up, terrified of what to do next. Howard had never hugged him before, or at least never gave him a genuine hug when he was a child. How was he supposed to do this without knowing what to even do?

 

Was the kid in emotional distress? Or did he find comfort in physical touch? Whatever the reason might have been, Peter needed him to respond with  _ something _ .

 

Slowly, he leaned into the hug, gradually wrapping his own arms around Peter’s torso. A small, awkward reaction, but this had an affect on the kid; he seemed to appreciate it, leaning in further. 

 

Peter’s sobbing soon subsided to sniffles, his head lolling on Tony’s shoulder. “Thank you…” his small voice drifted; he needed a name.

 

“Tony,” the man said. “Tony Stark.”

 

Peter raised his head, a weak smile raising his blemished and scraped lips. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

 

The corners of Tony’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. Well, at least some things never changed.

  
  


-

 

August 24th

 

-

 

The weather was brutal on the way back, but they’d made it. They reached the compound at around two in the morning after Peter’s discharge from the hospital, Happy picking them up. 

 

Peter had slept through the entire car ride like a rock. Not even the loudest crackle of thunder was enough to arouse him out of slumber. Meanwhile, Tony had been in the passenger seat next to Happy, glancing back every ten seconds to make sure the kid was doing alright. 

 

Now that they were at the compound, Tony would have to make adjustments to the living situation. He wanted Peter to continue to attend Midtown High, but the only way that would be possible was to live at the old Avengers Tower.

 

He walked himself into such a mess. But then he’d reminded himself who he was doing this for, and he didn’t feel even the tiniest bit of regret.

 

“Happy,” he said as they entered the garage. The other man turned his head to listen. “Arrange a rendezvous with the buyers of the Tower. I want you to contact the best lawyers we have. We’re going to be moving back.”

 

Despite the aggravated protests from Happy, Tony unbuckled his seatbelt and maneuvered his way around to help Peter out of the vehicle. The kid stirred, hands clambering around with tired whines and kicks. Apparently, he wanted to sleep in the back of Tony’s Rolls Royce. He knew that wasn’t happening tonight.

 

“Alright kid, doing this the hard way I see.” Tony gingerly grabbed ahold of Peter’s flailing limbs, hoisting him out of the car and into his arms bridal style. Tony huffed out in surprise _.  _ Looks were deceiving indeed, because God, this kid was  _ heavy.  _ He shifted Peter a bit to where his head (delicate after the accident) was supported on his shoulder, his left arm scrunched over his chest. 

 

Tony tilted his head to get a better look at Peter’s sleeping face, and he couldn’t help but frown. The kid looked calm, content almost, not knowing anything about what happened. He looked free of worries. Tony knew he would have to break news with him soon, and the look on his face would be absolutely devastating.

 

Tony crushed the pessimistic thought and hauled them through the doorway and navigated toward a long hallway. For now, he could spend time with the kid. Let him develop new habits, and rediscover lost skills. Implement things like movie night, take him to an arcade. Let Peter enjoy being a kid while it lasted. He was seventeen after all. 

 

He rounded a corner where a lone door was and entered, still carrying the kid. It was a guest bedroom, the one Peter was supposed to stay in before he’d denied the offer to be apart of the Avengers. 

 

The room was mostly vacant, save for a queen bed, wardrobe, vanity, and dusty bookshelf with a flat screen television propped on the highest shelf. Nothing too primitive like worn out bed sheets or electronics from the nineties. Everything was pretty brand new, with the exception of old novels on the shelves. However, the room looked bland; no decorations, or distinct little things that would differentiate it from any other normal guestroom. Tony made a mental note to decorate Peter’s own bedroom once they lived at the Tower.

 

He sauntered over to the side of the bed, lowering the teen atop the straightened gray duvet. Tony went to the closet and retrieved a few quilts and blankets, tucking them over Peter. He lingered over the teen, watching as his chest rose and fell at a steady pace. Tony couldn’t peel his eyes off the kid, feeling obligated to watch over him like a hawk. 

 

Was this what helicopter parenting felt like? Tony mentally berated himself. He wasn’t fit to be a parent. A guardian, yes, but not a parental figure. How could he even think that?

 

He stayed a few more minutes before brushing the kid’s shoulder, wishing him goodnight. 

 

But just before departing the room, Peter jolted awake with a scream. Tony faltered in his step, immediately running back toward the bed.

 

“Peter? Peter what’s wrong!?” 

 

The screams were relentless, carrying out until his voice cracked. Tony didn’t know what to do. What should he do? His composure snapped, and he was now the one going into a nervous breakdown. 

 

Tony placed two hands on the side of Peter’s now tense shoulders; he was shaking like mad. Not shaking -  _ convulsing.  _ Was he having a seizure? 

 

Peter cried out his name. “Mr. Stark!” Tony bit his lip as he tried to alleviate the tension. He rubbed the kid’s shoulders until he hushed. After a while, he drifted off into sleep again. 

 

He was afraid to look, his eyes concentrated on the bare wall in front as he rubbed circles into Peter’s back. The teen had fallen quiet. That was an indicator that he was alright. Tony leaned away slowly, getting a glimpse of the kid’s tear stained cheeks. His eyes were closed. He took two trembling fingers and checked for a pulse on his neck; it was rapid, but seemed to be gradually transitioning back to normal. 

 

Tony needed fresh air. He needed to recuperate. 

 

He placed Peter back onto the bed and left the room, holding his left hand in an iron grip. Down the hall and taking a left turn, he ran into a solid form. Tony retracted his hand to his side, startled. His gaze rose to meet familiar blue eyes. It was Steve.

 

“I heard the screams. Is everything okay? Who was that?” Leave it to the Captain to be so worried. Tony rubbed his eyes with a tired sigh. 

 

“It’s okay. I took Peter home from the hospital and he just now had a nightmare. Nothing’s wrong, nobody’s hurt.” His voice quivered a little as he spoke. Tony cut the conversation short and steered around Steve, who only frowned in confusion. Steve caught ahold of Tony’s arm before he was able to leave. 

 

“You look disturbed, and I don’t think one nightmare from someone can cause this much panic for you.” Tony took his arm back in one swift motion, cradling it as he stared. 

 

“It was a nightmare, nothing more. Now if you excuse me, I need to go.”

 

“Why is there a kid here at this time of night?”

 

“That’s none of your concern right now.”

 

“It damn well is, he’s sleeping in the same building that half the Avengers are in.” 

 

Tony heaved, apoplectic anger evident on his face. “Give me time and I will tell you,” he stressed. 

 

With that, he darted the other way, Steve watching his back with skeptical eyes. 

  
  



	3. One Step At A Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's one more chapter I had to squeeze in before I work on the big chapters, which will be coming shortly. Hope you all enjoy chapter 3!

August 24th

 

-

 

As the rain clouds receded during the night, the sun was up again the next morning, bright and blazing. The sky was clear, birds chirping clamorously outside of Tony’s bedroom window. Somehow, he’d managed to make it through the night with little sleep. He had tossed and turned, never satisfied with any position. Sometimes he would doze off, and other times he would beg his eyes to close for just a minute. His thoughts were muddled and clustered, a usual thing that occurred when he pulled all-nighters. 

 

He had been so caught up about making sure Peter was alright, even going to check on him a few times every thirty minutes. The kid had healed fast from when Tony brought him to the compound, courtesy of his amplified genetics, but still, Peter’s rehabilitation would take a much longer coarse over the months.

 

Morning daylight glistened through the pale curtains, forcing Tony to begin the day. Even though every inch of his body ached and protested against his sudden movement, he endured the pain, getting up to start breakfast. He glanced back at the bed. The right side remained untouched, with the comforter furled neatly into the crevices of the bed frame. Usually, Pepper would be back late at night, but instead, she had tended to business relations halfway across the world in Beijing; she took her CEO position very seriously, and Tony expected no less from his diligent fiance. 

 

Dragging rough fingers through his hair, he lifted himself fully from the mattress and headed out the door and through the kitchen.

 

Evidently, he wasn’t the only person awake. Up and early, with a steaming skillet in hand was none other than Steve. Dressed in his white hoodie and cargo pants, already one step ahead of him. Steve flipped an egg, turning to see Tony staring at him as if he were in a blank stupor. 

 

“You want an omelette to eat while we sit down and discuss what happened last night?” Steve’s voice bit through the air. Tony sighed, ignoring him as he shuffled over to the pantry to retrieve his own kitchenware.

 

“Save the cynicism, Cap. Your gray hairs are catching up to your age now.” He took a loaf of bread from the counter and began collecting ingredients as Steve scoffed.

 

“You’re acting petulant, Tony. I thought you would be up to talk about what was going on - like an adult. You know, before everyone else hears about it. I know Vision doesn’t mind privacy, or walls, for that matter, and once he somehow finds himself in that kid’s room -”

 

Tony slammed a carton of milk rather hard on the counter top. He wanted to say it now; to blurt out the truth to Steve just so that he could shut up. 

 

His fingers flexed a few times until he mustered the courage to finally speak. 

 

“I’ll be adopting Peter in a few weeks.”

 

Steve’s face contorted. He looked off to the side with that stupid, dumbfounded expression Tony hated as he flipped the egg again.

 

“...Adopting?” 

 

“Yes, as in the kid will legally be under my care.”

 

Steve dropped the skillet onto the stove with a clatter, disbelief crossing his face. His mouth rose as if he was going to say something, but then pursed as his eyes stared ahead. On the opposite side of the kitchen was Tony, twiddling his fingers in an incessant manner.

 

“Look, this isn’t a group discussion. I’ve already made my decision about what to do and -”

 

Steve intervened. “I never said I was against the proposition. It’s just… are you really up to raise a kid, Tony?”

 

Silence ensued, filling the air with discernible tension. Steve turned around to face the other man, butter and knife in hand. Tony had to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.  _ Was it getting hot in here or what? _

 

His nervousness was blatant to Steve. The way he had ran around anxious last night, followed by his outburst. The visible sweat on his face as he brought up the adoption. His tired eyes as they searched Steve for a response. This was probably one of the few times Steve had seen Tony genuinely scared. 

 

Steve pierced through the quietness. “Are you nervous?” 

 

Tony tried to bite out a fake laugh. “Nervous? Why would you say that?”

 

“You’re shaking. I know what it looks like.”

 

Tony didn’t even deny it, just slowly faced the counter again to continue making breakfast. Steve’s eyes lingered on Tony’s back as his shoulders moved, more coiled and rigid than usual. 

 

“This isn’t some insurmountable quantum physics equation, Tony. This is parenting. You’re going to be raising a  _ kid  _ now.”

 

Tony couldn’t believe it. Was Steve really pontificating to him on how to handle the kid? A kid he didn’t even  _ know _ ? He would have been seething with anger, but he didn’t have the time or mental capacity to be mad. Besides, his energy had been depleted over the last few days. He was too exhausted to argue. He sighed in defeat. 

 

“A kid who will be off to college next year,” Tony mumbled.

 

“While that may be true, he still needs a parental figure in his life. You’re the only one who can do that now.”

 

“How can I act as a parent when my own father  _ neglected _ me? Steve, I have absolutely no experience for that position. Maybe Pepper will be better handling this. Hell, even  _ you  _ can probably do better.” He stirred his mix with more force, splaying bits of liquid mush over the marble counter top.

 

Steve finished preparing the omelette, grabbing a plate and moving next to Tony. “Don’t say that. You’re doubting yourself, Tony. Stop it. You’ll do fine as long as you care for him. I’ll even help, that is if you want me to.” 

 

Tony squeezed his eyes shut in anguish, huffing out a breath as he grasped the counter, knuckles bleaching to white. “I can’t  _ do  _ this. I’m afraid that I’ll… Afraid that I’ll…”

 

“Afraid that you’ll screw things up?”

 

Another quiet pause descended over them both. 

 

Steve placed a hand on his back. “Tony, you know that’s not true. That kid is alone, and he needs you to be there for him.”

 

Tony relinquished his hold on the marble top, brown eyes flitting around. He finally looked back to Steve.

 

“Thanks, Cap.” That made him smile. 

 

“No problem, Tony.” 

  
  


-

 

A knock from the bedroom door resonated through the room, and Peter startled at the noise. There was a brief pause outside, and only the sound of Peter’s own breathing permeated through the stilled air. He waited a second, calming his frazzled nerves as the knob turned. The door opened, revealing the man that had appeared in the hospital. Though his clothes weren’t as dirty or disheveled as last time, he now sported attire fit for a businessman. Peter tilted his head, eyebrows crinkled in a meticulous way as he searched the man before him.

 

He knew him. The man’s name was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said. 

 

_ What was his name? _

 

_ What was his name? _

 

_ What was his name? _

 

Peter kept his eyes trained on the man as he began walking, though hesitant in his steps, toward the bed. The teen sat up straight, back hunched to a degree and fingers holding lightly at the duvet. The mattress dipped, and the man spoke first.

 

“Good morning, kid.”

 

The familiarity surged through his veins, and Peter remembered.

 

He flashed the man a dubious glance. “...Mr. Stark?”

 

“That’s me,” the other confirmed. It was like a breath of fresh air glided over Peter; a relief that he knew someone else other than himself. The world no longer felt like a desolate island in the middle of the sea, marooned by the world and left alone. No, he  _ wasn’t _ alone. He had Mr. Stark. 

 

Wavering eyes ducked to the blankets strewn on the bed. “Where am I now?”

 

“A guest room. In the Avengers compound.”

 

That sparked something in his mind, too. He remembered the word, albeit vaguely. “The Avengers… as in… earth’s mightiest heroes?”

 

Tony couldn’t help the tiny rise of his lips as he nodded. At least the kid had some things in tact. 

 

“Yes, them. Do you remember their names?”

 

Peter rubbed his hands, biting his tongue in concentration. “Captain America… Hawkeye… Black Widow and Thor…. Hulk and… and Iron Man.” 

 

Tony was flabbergasted, to say the least. The kid had recited their names in one, almost coherent sentence. He felt a swell of warmth pool in his chest as he went on. 

 

“And who’s your favorite?”

 

A contemplative pause. “Iron Man.”

 

Tony couldn’t conceal the grin etched in his cheeks. “Really? Do you remember who Iron Man is?”

 

Peter looked wary as he tried to solve the next question like a puzzle piece; eyes wide, fingers strained, eyebrows drawn down as he thought; moments later, a disappointed look crossed over him. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, and his lip formed a pout. 

 

“No. I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t seem to remember much of anything,” his voice grew small. Tony’s warmth dissipated, now replaced with an emptiness. He disregarded the feeling and clapped his hands together. 

 

“Well, that doesn’t matter right now. I say we blow this popsicle stand and get some breakfast. I made some killer French Toast earlier, and it’s getting cold. Would that be cool?”

 

Peter’s eyes twinkled at the mention of food. Especially French Toast. He’d definitely remembered what that tasted like. He garnered his strength and slipped out from under the sheets. 

 

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

  
  


-

  
  


The interior of the compound was mostly sparse of decorations. Only massive windows, a few potted plants, and overhead lights were what Peter saw on his trek to the kitchen area, along with occasional paintings of abstract art. For a building that looked very expensive, the inhabitants living there weren’t the best designers, to say the least. Tony kept a distance from the kid as they arrived in the dining room, and decided to busy himself with preparing the food as the kid accommodated to his surroundings.

 

Peter situated himself in a cream cushioned chair at the end of a long table, fingers trailing over the intricate designs ingrained in the seat. 

 

He squinted as he raised his head. The lights in the room were almost blinding, making it hard for the teen to focus. The window on the opposite side of where he sat was allowing the morning sun to seep through, along with the multiple lamps lit in the corners of the room. Not only were the lights distracting, but there was a cacophonous ringing coming from across the table. It sounded faintly like static, and as Peter got a closer look, he realized it was just a radio. A tingling sensation was now concentrated toward the center of his spine, and Peter couldn’t refrain from squirming uncomfortably in his seat. 

 

Brown eyes cast down to his arm; it was littered with goose bumps. He rubbed harshly at his arms until they reddened. Something was playing with his senses, and he didn’t like it. 

 

Tony reemerged through the dining room minutes later, carrying a plate of steaming French Toast coated in a layer of thick syrup. The sweet, cinnamon aroma of breakfast had Peter’s mouth watering as it was placed down in front of him. He didn’t waste time to pick up a fork and dig in, haywire senses be damned. 

 

Tony took a seat beside the teen, propping his elbows upon the cloth surface as he stared in amazed shock. It had only been a few seconds and Peter had wolfed down almost all of the French Toast. He mentally chided himself. God, he was so stupid. How could he have  _ forgotten  _ about the kid’s enhanced metabolism? He made a mental side note for later as he cleared his throat.

 

“So, Peter…tell me about yourself. Everything you know.” 

 

Peter slowed his movements, setting the fork down on the plate. His eyes flickered to the side with thought. “Um… my birthday is August 10th. My favorite color is red… I’m sixteen years old…”

 

Tony frowned. “Seventeen, Peter. You’re now seventeen.”

 

A hesitant pause. “...What’s today’s date?”

 

“August 24th. 2018.”

 

Peter‘s eyebrows scrunched up. “Wait… how long have I been…” his voice drifted off. 

 

“Why was I even in the hospital in the first place?”

 

Tony couldn’t do this now. They’d both just sat down only a few minutes ago to have breakfast. He just wanted him to enjoy the meal, he shouldn’t have to be subjected to this conversation right _ now.  _ But apparently, he didn’t have much of a choice; a common theme Tony found himself experiencing a lot. 

 

Peter’s face shriveled as he gripped the chair’s side. 

It was now or never, and Peter deserved the truth. Even though Tony would have wanted to wait a little longer, time would never agree with him. 

 

“You have… you have amnesia.”

 

Peter had heard the term before. He was apathetic for a minute, which scared Tony. His voice seemed devoid of emotion as he spoke. “Amnesia? That can’t be… I can’t have…”

 

Tony’s chest constricted. The kid began looking around again, just as he did when waking up in that hospital bed, terror and confusion all in one wrapped around him in a vice. 

 

“I’m sorry, kid. But stay here and I can talk you through it, just you and me. It’ll be okay, just trust -”

 

The chair squeaked loudly against the floor as Peter stood abruptly, disrupting the billionaire. He dismissed himself with a hushed voice, hurrying back to the guestroom as Tony watched him leave. He could hear the faint slam of a door as he sat in the chair, fingers curled into the cloth.

 

His body impelled him to move, but something stopped him from doing so. It was as if a mental block was impeding him of standing up. For the first time in many months he felt… hopeless. That Peter would end up hating him. That if he were to raise Peter, he would make the same mistakes his Father did, even though he promised to himself that wouldn’t be the case. That Peter would stay like this forever, and never remember anything ever again.

 

He didn’t deny the trepidation that furled in his stomach.

 

But this was his kid now. His kid needed him there, just as Steve said.

 

He pushed away the negative thoughts that plagued his mind and rushed out from the dining room, his sole focus on Peter.

 

-

  
  


Peter’s eyes were glued to the floor as he listened to the approaching set of footsteps outside. He disregarded them, curled over his knees that were tugged tight to his chest. 

 

“Peter, can I come in?” Tony’s voice flooded through his room.

 

No response.

 

“Alright, guess that’s my cue.”

 

Moments after his entry, Tony plopped onto the other side of the bed, laying a hand on Peter’s shoulder; the kid attempted to shrug it off. Tony tried to ignore the gesture, his head tilting down to face the teen’s unreadable expression.

 

“Kid… don’t feel bad about this. These things don’t happen on purpose.”

 

“Where’s my family?” The unexpected question came down heavy, like an anvil had dropped onto Tony’s shoulders. The kid had asked about his family.

 

His  _ dead  _ family. 

 

Neither of them spoke for a while, Tony drumming his fingers against his legs as his mind reeled. 

 

“Your… your family?” He reiterated. 

 

“Yes. Where’s my family?” The response came back icily, and Tony didn’t like this new brusque attitude Peter had sprung up. 

 

Tony was hesitant to answer. “They’re… your parents passed before you were five. Your aunt and uncle…”

 

“My aunt and uncle?”

 

_ One after another,  _ he thought. “They also passed.”

 

“Was I an orphan?”

 

What? No, why would he ever have thought that? Tony shook his head vigorously. “No, you weren’t.”

 

Peter finally faced Tony, and he could see the kid’s eyes. They were puffy and red, probably from crying. “So do I have a family or not?” Peter’s voice cracked mid sentence.

 

Tony gripped his shoulder harder, making sure to emphasize his next words. “You have me.”

 

“And who are you to me?” Peter boiled with a newfound rage, shrugging Tony’s hand off and scooting over. “My ‘guardian’?” 

 

Tony felt himself grow angry at the doubt. “I’m your mentor. You’re my kid. We both look out for each other. That’s what families do, they have each other’s backs. Always.”

 

Peter’s anger waned at that, and the tears were back again in full force, flowing down his cheeks uncontrollably. It’s as if a dam had burst open, and Tony was quick to pull the other into a tight hug. It was so sudden that Peter’s breath caught in his throat before he registered what was happening. His eyes screwed shut and he sobbed out, desperate arms encircling around Tony as he bawled into his shoulder. The two stayed in that position for a while, neither of them saying a word as Peter’s breathing soon slowed down, and his eyes finally dried.

 

A sharp knock sounded at the door, and the two pulled away at last. Tony had both hands on Peter’s shoulders as he consulted him. 

 

“You okay?”

 

Peter nodded his head, and soon after, averted his attention to the now opened door. Steve stepped over the threshold, clearly irritated as he stared directly at Tony.

 

“Sorry if I’m disrupting anything important. Tony, you left the skillet on and it caught fire. You nearly burned the compound down.”

 

Tony sucked in through his teeth, sparing Peter one more glance before propelling from the bed and over toward Steve.

 

“Well, at least we have the mighty  _ Steve Rogers _ to save the day. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

 

Peter laughed a little at that, only feeding Tony’s ego even more. Steve rolled his eyes.  _ Pestilent as ever.  _

 

“You were careless. Just don’t do it again…” Steve’s gaze crossed over to meet Peter’s, and the kid’s face flashed over in recognition. 

 

“Are you Captain America?”

 

The Captain gave a toothy smile. So, this was the kid? He could see a sort of resemblance between him and Tony. “Yes I am, but you can call me Steve if you like.”

 

Tony gawked at the two.

 

“So you remember this guy and not Iron Man?”

 

“Tony, I’m not the one who wears a mask.”

 

“But are you a genius, billionaire, playboy,  _ and  _ philanthropist?” 

 

“ _ Not this again. _ ”

 

As the two commenced into bickering at each other, Peter couldn’t help but muffle the laugh that came with a grin. A feeling of content washed over like a wave. Maybe this was his home, a place where he could find tranquility; where he could find himself. 

 

Peter knew in that moment that everything was going to be alright. One step at a time was all it took.

 


	4. The Hardships

Home used to be such a broad, tantalizing term, and Peter didn’t think that the word could feel any emptier. Did he belong in any home, or did fate cast him out to fend for himself?

 

After the revelation that he had been diagnosed with amnesia, the world seemed to spiral into an abyss; its bright lights were shut off, and he was left to fall in the blindness of the dark.

 

His parents? Gone. His aunt and uncle? Gone. What else mattered? He had nowhere to go.

 

But then a hand had stretched out to him and grabbed hold. He was no longer falling. He was lifted back on his feet. Tony was there. He was the one helping him up, and Peter had never been so grateful.

 

Everything was going to be fine.

 

-

 

The next few days went by in an instant. Peter gradually assimilated to Tony’s very fast and hectic lifestyle. Waking up at early hours in the morning, going to bed close to midnight; although Tony tried to get him to develop a better sleep habit, for the kid’s sake.

 

Tony made sure to teach Peter things that he might have forgotten, and touched up on his twenty first century skills, just so the kid wouldn’t get confused about anything. Apparently, Peter’s learning was perfectly normal, and he was actually able to recall many topics from school, especially science.

 

The billionaire also introduced him to a few other Avengers that Peter never recognized, but soon found to adore. Vision was one of his favorites, and it might have been due to the interesting stories that he told Peter as the kid bombarded him with question after question; he was a scientific phenomenon, a breakthrough for progress. Who _wouldn’t_ be interested about that?

 

Another thing was that Peter’s nightmares were becoming less frequent, which Tony was glad to see. No more waking up every night to blood curdling screams, or staying wide awake in knowing that Peter would rouse from sleep any moment.

 

He watched as Peter grew accustomed to the new life he was given, and always smiled whenever the kid’s eyes would light up. It would happen during the smallest of things like tinkering in the shop, when Peter would become beguiled with some gadget Tony had been working on. Or when they were in the garage, and Peter saw all of his cars lined up and was tempted to drive every one of them.

 

Sometimes, when Tony attempted to keep his smiles surreptitious, Steve would creep up behind the man and snap a picture. He claimed that it was for blackmail purposes later on, and Tony would end up trying to throw the phone out a window, but failed doing so every time.

 

Life seemed to be finally moving past the terrible things, leaving them behind as it should be.

 

But as some things had been going well for Peter, he found that some _other_ things were getting weird. Ever since he had regained his health, it appeared to have come back with a lot of strange abnormalities.

 

In the morning, when he would do a mundane task like washing his hands, he’d go to turn on the sink and rip the faucet handle right off. The first time it happened, water splayed everywhere, which caught him off guard, and Peter had to shove a towel over it until Tony came back from work.

 

The second time it occurred, Peter had been turning the door knob. It popped right off, along with many others. However, this was just scratching the surface for Peter. The weirdest thing to happen was when he would sit down to have meals.

 

Apparently, eating a whole plate of food in the span of only a few minutes was far from normal. Not to mention that the silverware stuck to his fingers. And he had the capability of shattering a glass cup with his bare hands, which he didn’t even _need_ stitches for because the wound would staunch itself and heal the very next day like it wasn’t even there to begin with.

 

Peter tried to brush it off as a drug side effect, or possibly even something pertaining to his condition, but that didn’t make sense. The whole week he had his mind wrapped around it like a madman, but nothing sensible seemed to click every time he came to a possible conclusion.

 

So the best thing he did? Kept it hidden from everyone. Especially Tony.

 

-

 

September 4th

 

-

 

Late at night on a Saturday, Tony had a movie planned. It wasn’t a special occasion, but Tony insisted that he and Peter spend quality time together. He claimed it to be a sort of ‘bonding moment’ between him and the kid, and that movie night could potentially be a reoccurring thing for the two of them. Peter never shot down the request, glad that he was able to hang around Tony more.

 

They ended up scrolling through endless amounts of blockbusters, but none Peter found appealing. Tony suggested a few, but Peter didn’t take interest. Besides, his mind was occupied with what had been happening over the last few days. But Tony didn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyways.

 

_Star Wars_ , the fourth episode, was what they ended up watching, and Tony knew he chose the right one when he saw the way Peter became captivated. Before the accident, this had been one of Peter’s favorite movies, and even now it proved to be the same.

 

When the credits rolled, Peter was already out like a light, his head propped up on a pillow as his feet dangled off the side. Faint snores could be heard as Tony scooped the kid into his arms; this was routine now. Almost every night that Peter would spend in the shop, he would have to do this, and supposedly now when it came to watching movies. He couldn’t blame the kid, though. It was twelve o’clock at night.

 

Peter’s head lolled as Tony carried him back to his room, tucking him in with a kind of fastidious care. He made sure the kid was comfortable before turning to leave. He did one last check, scoping the bed.

 

The neatness of the sheets were now rumpled, Peter’s body already sprawled out underneath. The kid was snoring up a storm, foot twitching as it poked out from under a blanket. Tony stayed to admire the sight before leaving.

 

-

 

Peter woke to the sounds of shouting.

 

His eyes cracked open, hands already clambering around for his lamp and switching it on. He looked at the digital clock, red numbers lit up. It was almost four in the morning.

 

He would have gone back to sleep, but the noises wouldn’t let him. Peter could hear Tony from across the building, his words muffled as he was too far away.

 

The sheets draped off the bed, Peter’s feet drifting almost silently across the floorboards as he crept out of his room and toward Tony’s voice.

 

The closer he got, the more coherent words became. On his way, one of the boards creaked, and the talking became hushed. Peter bit his lip in hope that Tony didn’t hear him, continuing his trek, albeit much slower. He stopped when he could finally put together sentences.

 

“Can’t Doctor Who do anything about this?”

 

“Doctor _Who-_? Do you mean Doctor Strange?”

 

“Yeah, him, the wizard or whatever. Can’t he use his powers to reverse all this?”

 

He must have been conversing over the phone. Peter leaned in a little as if it would help. The person on the other line sounded almost like Steve. Maybe it was him.

 

“I don’t think he’s capable of doing that, so no. Tony, the kid’s going to get better if you give it time. All you need to do is wait.”

 

_This Doctor Strange wouldn’t be of any help, would he?_ Peter’s spark of hope faded.

 

Tony practically seethed. “I _can’t_ wait _,_ Steve. It’ll be years from now until he gets his memory back, and I don’t have that kind of time. I can’t do that to him, it’s not fair.”

 

_Years? Memory?_ The two words puzzled together, and Peter stumbled back. The movement didn’t make much noise, and the two never faltered in their conversation.

 

Peter heaved out a loose breath. It would take _years_ for his memory to be fully restored? The world came to a steering halt.

 

He knew about the amnesia. What did he expect? For his past to be brought back in little to no time? It never worked out like that. It just never did. He had to accept reality and move forward. He couldn’t be left in the dark forever.

 

Peter wiped a hand over his face. He needed to calm down. Deep breaths in and out, like how Tony taught him. He pushed away from the wall to hear more; he wouldn't let himself dread on something he knew about. He was stronger than that.

 

The topic later shifted onto school, and that was Peter’s cue to leave.

 

School? In a few days? Midtown High?

 

Like Tony would make him go to school this early on. Considering the distance between Midtown and the compound? He wouldn’t do that.

 

-

 

September 8th

 

-

 

Supposedly, Tony and Steve _were_ serious about him attending school again, and could care less about the two hour drive. Something about college and a better future. Peter never fought them on it, obliging without restraint the second it was proposed. He cared a lot about his future, and the thought of making new friends seemed to be one reason to go back. Maybe he could rekindle previous friendships. Who knew?

 

But as he stood outside of the school doors that Friday morning, he found it unnerving. Peter held his backpack straps tightly, shoulders tense as he rocked back and forth on his feet. The night before, Tony filled him in on what to expect at high school, and that he should avoid getting himself into trouble with anybody. He’d nodded along, remembering vaguely just what his high school was like, just enough to get an idea of it. He thought that this would be easy.

 

But now as his hand hovered near the door, he found his heart racing and his stomach flipping. Peter shoved the nauseous feeling away with a vigorous shake of his head, rolling his shoulders back in circles. He finally summoned enough courage and opened the doors with a small push.

 

He stepped over the threshold. It was now or never.

 

The bell for first period rang, and it took him quite  a while to navigate around, mostly due to the hoards of students crowding the hallways. His hands fumbled with the paper schedule, previous school stress trickling in again as he glanced at the clock. Everyone had already departed into their respective classes, leaving Peter alone.

 

He checked the schedule once more. First period was physics, room 204. After searching almost every inch of the school, he at last stumbled upon the room number.

 

However, when he found the room, class had already commenced; he was about three minutes tardy. Peter nearly tripped over his feet as he walked toward the teacher through the thickening silence. All eyes were glued on him, like some imposter had entered.

 

The teacher, a small lady with sharp blue eyes and round glasses placed a hand on his shoulder. He nearly startled at the touch.

 

“Peter, so glad you could join us. Here, take a seat next to our new student,” she motioned toward the back of the room, where a vacant seat was situated right next to another kid.

 

Peter didn’t waste time to stand around, immediately sauntering over to the lab table and dropping his bag beside him as he plopped into the chair.

 

He didn’t pay attention to the teacher as she began talking again. His eyes flickered to the person on his right; a lean, immaculately dressed boy with a mop of light brown curls on his head. He looked misplaced in a school like Midtown; his outfit made it seem like he’d walked straight out of a met gala.  Peter quickly turned his attention away when the other spared him a look. Meticulous hazel eyes burned into Peter’s profile before nodding.

 

“Nice to meet you, Peter…?”

 

Oh. So he was talking to him now. Peter sucked in a sharp breath as he tapped a pencil on the table.

 

“Parker. Peter Parker.”

 

The other stretched out a friendly hand. “Harry Osborn.”

 

Peter felt his mind reel, but took the hand without question. He gave a firm shake. “I’ve heard that name before… your dad is the founder of Oscorp Industries, right?”

 

He retracted his hand and hoped he was right about that, otherwise embarrassment would be the thing to ruin his day. Harry flashed a smile, and relief soothed his frazzled nerves.

 

“Norman Osborn, the one and only rival of Tony Stark himself.”

 

That was a name that seemed familiar in his recollection, since Tony was the one to tell him all about Oscorp. Peter tried to contain his sudden excitement.

 

“No way! Norman Osborn? That’s pretty cool, dude. What’s he up to now?”

 

Harry sighed. “Other than trying to keep the company from bankruptcy, I’d say nothing much, just making sure the city’s safe. After the incident with a serum and a… casualty of one of his employees, he hasn’t quite recovered from his failure state of mind.”

 

“Oh. Isn’t he going to run for mayor?”

 

Harry looked perplexed. “Um… he _is_ the mayor.”

 

_You hit the nail on the head with this one, Peter._

 

“ _Oh_ , I’m sorry, _er_ , must’ve forgot. Don’t really keep up with politics.” He rubbed his head as he tried to manage a laugh, but Harry overlooked the awkwardness as he delved into the class assignment. Something about a research project for a test grade.

 

Peter kept his head down during class, sending a few subtle glances to the clock as it ticked monotonously on the wall. Harry would talk occasionally, Peter chiming in here and there. Throughout first period, Peter was able to learn more about Harry, who at first glance gave the impression of being a pretentious rich kid, but turned out to be nothing close of that disposition. Instead, he seemed like an interesting, down to earth guy. Peter liked that.

 

School picked up the pace from there. No one but Harry had interacted with him throughout the first three periods, and it was nearing noon when the lunch bell rang. Peter was thankful that he could stretch his legs from all the sitting.

 

Heading down the halls with the thought of food on his mind, he didn’t think twice to check around the corner until he smacked right into another student. He backpedaled, sputtering apologies to whoever he’d impacted.

 

Apparently, the student didn’t think too much of the accident.

 

“Hey Peter! Dude, I’m _so_ glad you’re back and healthy as ever. Haven’t you been getting my texts? Well anyway, I was thinking, for the upcoming science fair we should do something about Dr. Octavius’ carbonadium plate and…”

 

Peter stared at the kid in front of him as he rambled on about a science fair. His dumbfounded expression soon caught on to the overly verbose teen, and he slowed down to a stop.

 

Peter felt extremely bad. Awful, actually. This kid definitely knew him. They were probably close.

 

And Peter stood there, not knowing what to do. He felt like a stranger.

 

“...I’m sorry, but… who are you?”

 

Something flickered across the other’s eyes, and Peter tried to not to frown.

 

“Peter, I’m your… I’m your guy in the chair. Don’t you remember Or do you…” His voice murmured, barely above a whisper. But Peter could hear it as clear as day; the hurt was evident in his tone.

 

No matter how hard he tried, the face never matched with a name.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember. It’s just….”

 

The other dismissed it with a wave, but still carried that same look in his eyes. “No, it’s fine. I understand what happened. I… didn’t expect this, though. Mind if we talk later?”

 

Peter nodded. “That’d be fine with me.”

 

The other turned on his feet, heading the opposite way before calling behind.

 

“Ned’s the name.”

 

_Ned._ Another name paired with another face. Peter gave a small wave even though Ned wouldn’t see it.

 

“See you around, Ned.”

 

-

 

The cafeteria was a lively place, filled with loud conversations and obnoxious students. Peter scanned the area until he found a familiar person. He made a beeline to the farthest table on the right where Harry was, making sure to avoid bumping into anyone.

 

He tapped lightly on his shoulder, and the other whirled around.  

 

“Mind if I sit here?”

 

Harry laughed, scooting over to allow some room.

 

“Hey, Pete! Didn’t know we had the same lunch.”

 

Peter hovered over him. “Ah, what a coincidence. So, can I take this seat?”

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

They sat there for a bit, Peter taking out his lunch, packed by Tony himself. It even came with a note:

 

_Have a good first day back._

 

Simple, straight to the point. Peter appreciated it. He dug out a ham sandwich, chewing on it as he tried to think of small talk.

 

“If you don’t mind my asking, when did you come to Midtown?”

 

Harry looked up from his food, forehead creased.

 

“A little over two weeks ago. To put it simply, I was a bit of a handful for boarding school, and a little too slow paced for any prestigious private school. My dad sent me off to Europe for a while, but later withdrew me from school there ‘cause of my lagging grades.” He scoffed at the last part.

 

Peter set the food down and wrung his hands together. “Sorry to hear that. So… he dropped you here instead?”

 

“Yeah, he still wants me to get into a good college. Says he doesn’t want a ‘weak link’ carrying out the Osborn name. _Tsk._ ”

 

“Well… if it’s no trouble, I can always lend a helping hand. You know, since we share a few classes, I can help tutor.”

 

Harry lifted his head, eyes wide. “Really? That’d be great. Thank you so much, Peter.”

 

“Sure,” Peter ripped off a side of the note, handing a pencil to the other. “Just give me your number and you and I can text a time and day.”

 

Harry sloppily wrote the phone number. “How about sometime next week, if that’s alright with you?”

 

“I’ll have to see - y’know, busy schedule and all.”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

The silence came back, and Peter tapped his foot to keep the anxious feelings from returning. He placed an elbow on the table, attention directed toward Harry; it wasn’t until he took notice of his surroundings that he realized they were sitting alone. Wasn’t Harry, a finely dressed and well rounded guy, supposed to be have a lot of friends? Peter didn’t understand.

 

“Do you usually eat alone like this?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Mostly. Other times, I’ll be in the library where I don’t have Flash tormenting me almost constantly.”

 

Peter’s interest piqued. “Flash?”

 

Harry bit out an acerbic huff. “Yeah. Flash Thompson. Total idiot. He’s your stereotypical pubescent teen who likes to pick on others for his pleasure.”

 

“He sounds… pleasant.”

 

“ _Heh_ , no shit.”

 

No more than a few seconds after mentioning Flash, Peter’s name was called out from across the room.

 

“Hey, Parker!” That didn’t sound too good.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _Speak of the devil._ ”

 

Flash strolled over, a few other students meandering behind as he made it to their table. He was a lanky, small guy. Peter wasn’t sure if this kid even _was_ a bully. He didn’t seem intimidating in the slightest, but Peter still had that gut churning feeling as if he was scared of him.

 

Harry rose from his chair, shielding Peter as he stepped in front.

 

“Not right now, Flash.”

 

Flash laughed, pushing lightly at the other boy’s shoulder. “Get out of the way, half ass. I just want to talk.”

 

“Sorry, your request has been declined.”

 

Flash took on a more serious tone. “C’mon, Osborn. You don’t intimidate me. How about you scurry on away and use daddy’s money to -”

 

A chair screeched back, and Peter propelled to his feet. _What was he doing?_ It’s like he’d discovered a sudden burst of courage. His mouth moved before he could think.

 

“Leave him alone.”

 

Flash moved ever so slowly around Harry, walking dangerously close to Peter.

 

“Or what?” He whispered.

 

Peter managed not to stutter, which he found surprising.

 

“Just leave him alone. He didn’t do anything to you.”

 

Harry humphed, and something in Flash snapped. That seemed to provoke him, and Flash swiveled around, his fist slamming into Harry’s face.

 

Harry stumbled back, fingers clutching at his mouth. He slowly wiped the blood from his lips, face contorting with anger as he charged at Flash. They both went at it, and soon the entire lunchroom had formed a sort of circle, cheers and shouts encouraging the two as they punched and kicked and scratched.

 

Peter was close to the conflict, probably too close as they fought, and didn’t like where this was going. He jumped in the middle, hands on each of their chests as he tried to break it up. Harry backed down, but that didn’t seem to stop Flash.

 

A burning sensation flared in Peter, compelling his body to move, and he unconsciously dodged a punch, jumping over it with finesse. The students hushed into whispers.

 

Flash was taken aback, but enraged once more as he threw more punches with a snarl. Peter continued to dodge each and every move.

 

_How am I doing this?_

 

Flash stopped, knuckles bloodied and beaten from the punches he’d delivered to Harry, and his own face littered with cuts and scrapes. Peter didn’t have a single scratch. Rage boiled underneath his skin once more, and Flash began running at full speed toward Peter.

 

Everything happened so quickly. His face slammed to the ground, and his nose tweaked.

 

Stunned quietness descended over the students. Peter stood atop of Flash, one hand holding down on his neck as the other had his arms locked tight behind his back. Flash laid there on the ground, immobilized, rasping in deep breaths.

 

Flash then squirmed, trying to loosen Peter’s grip.

 

“Get off me you freak!”

 

Soon, the circle dispersed out, and Peter scrambled off of Flash’s back in a horrified manner.

 

_Did he do that? Did he actually do that?_

 

Slowly, Peter’s eyes raised to see the shocked face of an adult standing across the cafeteria. The Principle, he assumed. Harry cursed loudly.

 

“You three in my office, _now._ ”

 

-

 

Peter was the last to be picked up of the three. Flash left first, followed by Hary minutes later. He could only sit there, thumbs twiddling as he waited.

 

As he sat there, he reflected on himself. Maybe Flash was right. Maybe he _was_ a freak. With everything that had been happening to him, Peter didn’t seem to doubt it. Just when things were getting better, he had to go and screw it up. He hung his head, inner turmoil bleeding into numbness. Tony was going to be mad at him. There was no denying that.

 

And all he could do was wait for him to come.

 

It was nearing one o’clock when Tony barged through the office doors, sporting rose gold shades and an irritated expression. He had his nice suit on. Peter’s diaphragm tightened. He probably interrupted one of his meetings. The guilt he felt was overbearing.

 

Tony reached the front desk, and the Principal's eyes almost popped out of his head.

 

“Mr. Stark-?” Tony raised an eyebrow, and Principal Davis regained his calm demeanor. He set down a stack of paperwork and swiveled in his office chair, folding his hands neatly on the desk.

 

“We’re here about Peter being apart of a fight during school today.”

 

Tony’s head tilted, glancing back to Peter who looked away with shame. “A fight on your first day back?”

 

Peter didn’t respond, and Tony didn’t have the patience for this today. He’d had to excuse himself from a meeting with a major client of his, and Pepper wasn’t able to fill in due to her still being in Beijing.

 

Tony raised a hand to his face, rubbing circles into his temples. “Well, I think it’s time we take our leave. This won’t happen again, I promise.”

 

Principal Davis shook his head. “The school has to take repercussions into consideration, Mr. Stark. Peter threw a student on the ground _,_ the result being a bloodied nose, possibly even broken.”

 

Peter could see it. The fractional widening of Tony’s eyes. How his lips parted, and the way his muscles stiffened. His reaction only lasted a second, but it was there. Peter didn’t think too much of it, brushing it off as Tony being stressed.

 

The billionaire pivoted around and tugged hold of Peter’s arm, already headed toward the door.

 

“All is done. If you have to go so far as to take this triviality to court, I’ll contact my lawyers. In the meantime, have a good rest of the day.”

 

Peter never spoke a word as he was dragged to the car.

 

-

 

He watched dully as the trees passed by in a blur, cheek resting on his hand. The ride was stilled with quietness, palpable tension thick between the two as Tony drove. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, teeth clamped.

 

“Did you really do that?”

 

The kid refused to speak, his mouth twisted. Tony calmed himself, hushing his tone the best he could.

 

“Peter, talk to me. You can’t sulk about this forever.”

 

“He started it.”

 

Tony inhaled sharply. “Whether he started it or not, you shouldn’t have stooped to his level.”

 

Peter couldn’t help the sudden anger that swelled in his chest. All numbness had disappeared, replaced with heated vexation. He exploded, hands flailing as he shouted.

 

“He’s a bully, Tony! What was I supposed to do? Fall back and watch? I tried to stop him, but he almost _punched_ me!”

 

He was right. Those same words reminded him of something that Steve would have said. The kid wasn’t at fault for defending himself. How _could_ he have been? Tony blamed his agitation on the meeting’s disruption.

 

“Kid, I know, it’s okay,” Tony tried to reconcile.

 

But Peter wasn’t finished. No, Tony had set off a time bomb, and he was already so far along - he couldn’t stop now.

 

“No, it’s not okay!” He howled. “Do you know what I’ve been through these past few weeks? Nothing but confusion _,_ loneliness… I-I thought everything  was fine because you were there and… I don’t even know anymore,” his voice drifted, throat congested as the tears started to rise. _No!_ He would _not_ let himself cry. Peter concealed himself, head craned toward the window as he took a deep breath.

 

Tony’s arms were locked in place, jaw slack as Peter vented. Is this how the kid felt all this time? Was he not doing a good enough job being there for him? Tony suppressed the rising guilt that entered him.

 

“Peter, if you want, we can talk as soon as we get home.”

 

_Home._ Peter’s body racked with a sob, and Tony’s concerned gaze flickered to the teen. He wanted to reach out, but knew that the kid needed time to himself. So he sat there without a word.

 

The outburst was followed by an unbearable two hours of silence in the car, but it was a one time thing. When he purchased the Tower in a few days, he wouldn’t have to worry about long drives to school. Especially dealing with situations like this.

 

As they drove up to the compound’s garage, Peter immediately unbuckled his seat belt and stormed out of the vehicle. Tony let him go without restraint, not wanting to upset the kid further.

 

“You have an appointment with Helen Cho at four. FRIDAY will let you know when she arrives,” Tony called out, but was ignored.

 

Peter fled to his room in tears, never once looking back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, drama, tension! Peter's struggling with a lot, and Tony's just trying to do his best. Hope everyone liked chapter 4!


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